


Winter

by Keltoi



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: ARRRR, AU, Alien Culture, Alien Pirates, Gen, Grayris Baroness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29028633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keltoi/pseuds/Keltoi
Summary: "We're a long way from home."AU, taking a minor Fallen character, changing their fate, and making them not-so-minor. TTK onwards.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Fear the Taken

There were laws in Winter declared for the sake of survival. Even without a Kell, a Prime Servitor, or an Archon, those laws were to be held onto with such conviction that they would appear to be the only laws that mattered. For Grayris, that was more than true. Ever since Draksis fell, she held onto those laws like a lifeline. Those laws had kept her alive where all else failed.

The first law: keep your crew close. If a Ketch is Kin, then a crew is family.

The second law: never brave the wilderness alone. A single call for help will go unheard if no one is around to hear it.

And she had failed both of them. Her crew were gone: killed by shadows. Without her crew, she was on her own with nothing more than the armour on her back, the swords at her hips, and the shrapnel launcher in her claws. The Devils might have said ' _a warrior needs nothing else_ ,' but they were on Earth. Venus was different. The only thing that mattered on Venus was numbers. And she simply didn't have the numbers.

Winter was dying. Skolaskel and the Guardians had gutted her house with war. And what came after Winter? Grayris didn't know. She didn't think she wanted find out. A life without a banner was no life at all.

_Then why continue to fight?_

She didn't know the answer to that either.

The Shattered Coast was familiar to her. A good place to hunt. Vex and Lightbearers both roamed the abandoned ruins in search of hidden secrets. Many a construct had fallen to her blade. Many a Earthborn thief burned before her launcher.

Now she was the hunted, fleeing from shadows with rending claws and screaming eyes. She was faster than they were, and she knew this land, but they were too numerous to escape with any ease and she imagined they knew that too. After all, some of those shadows used to be part of her crew.

She leapt onto a rusted out human vehicle. She didn't care for the loud, metallic crunch that echoed throughout the street, but she needed a vantage point. Grayris looked behind her. Nothing close enough, but alien eyes peeked out from cracked windows like hungry stars. The Skiff, _her_ Skiff, was past them, but she didn't dare try it.

Forward was the rocky headlands. To her left was the briny, boiling sea. The her right was a city full of Vex and death.

The headlands sounded like her best option. There was a landing zone there; maybe she could steal a ship.

An unearthly howl split the air. Grayris tensed. Not a panther. Not a batadactyl. Not even a machine. It was death-come-calling, wearing the twitching form of a Hive Knight.

Grayris stared at it from her perch on the crushed car. It stared back - at least until flames billowed from its eldritch eye. She cursed and jumped away, landing heavily on the cracked road. A sword so sharp that it sliced through reality itself came for her head. She rolled away, drew her own blade, and sank it into the Knight's glowing eye. It screamed, again, and dissipated into particles of decaying Darkness.

That was enough. She had stuck around too long. Grayris offered the horde of hungry, hungry shadows a final, burning glare, and ran.

Running solved nothing. The shadows weren't fast, but their reach was everywhere. And they wanted her. All fleeing did was burn through her ether reserves. She was low. Too low. The last time she'd ingested the life-sustaining substance in any satisfactory quantity was before Skolas. She'd made do since then, but now all her options were as dust in the wind.

Where were the ships? Where were the Winter Skiffs, Wolf Skiffs, and human-Guardian ships?

A Cabal Centurion wreathed in the filthy Hive magic came at her with fist and slug rifle. She crushed his glowing helmet beneath a clenched fist. His compatriot, a Psion who wouldn't stop SPLITTING took his turn. Grayris swore as shadowed microrockets bounced off her Arc shield. It took her precious seconds to destroy the multiplying pest with carefully judged shrapnel fire.

She hated the haunted puppets. Anger overrode fear. Her blood boiled and her ether ran cold. Grayris let loose a bellowing roar and swiveled to face her next opponent.

It was an Ogre. A hulking, ugly thing. The shadows had done little for its appearance. It moaned pitifully as it lumbered ever onward, headed straight for her. Grayris pulled out her blades and went about putting the poor thing down. It gave a mighty struggle, but ingrained pain slowed it and made it clumsy. Killing it was nothing short of a mercy. That's what she told herself as she planted her swords in its neck. More mercy than any Hive deserved.

In truth, all she wanted was to take as many of them down with her as she possibly could.

A teleporting Thrall leapt for her from behind a rock. She grabbed its head and smashed it against the rocky ground. It fell apart. A shadowed Hobgoblin fired at her from half a _rikha_ away. The screaming Void beam grazed the side of her helmet. Grayris dove behind the Thrall's rock and waited. Another shot slammed against rock. And, a few seconds later, another.

The shadow beasts weren't very intelligent. And this one had to pause between shots, which gave her an opening.

The force of the fourth reverberated through the rock and marked the moment Grayris took action. She seized the opportunity and scrambled away to another rock, larger and farther from the cursed Vex construct. It wasn't much of an improvement, but it was still one step closer to safety.

Even if she had little idea where to go on from there.

Her eyes roved the deadened headland. Her heads-up display found nothing of note. It was devoid of... there! A trail of superheated air left by a Skiff. She followed it, but it disappeared somewhere north of her position. Winter turf.

 _Wolf turf now_ , she grimly reminded herself. The Wolves were no friends. Not to her.

Even if she wanted to chase the Skiff down, there was the matter of the Hobgoblin. Her rock was the only thing keeping her alive. Without it, the construct's Line Rifle would lance right through her. And there were no more barriers to cower behind.

Cower. She was cowering. The shame of it gave rise to a wave of white-hot rage. Was she a quivering _drekh_ or a mighty noble of a Great House of Riis?

Grayris clutched her shrapnel launcher close. It was a powerful weapon, but it suffered at long range. It was designed to cow and break enemy formations, not eliminate foes from entire _rikhas_ away. She cursed under her breath. A Minotaur or even another Hive Ogre would have been preferable to the fragile Hobgoblin. An open brawl would have been honest and fair. This wasn't fair.

In the end, she came to the conclusion that she had two options left. Attack or run. Both of them would get her shot. One of them was certain to kill her. She pushed her anger aside and took charge with ice-cold rationale. The Hobgoblin had chosen an easily-defensible position on the ridge. Fleeing was her only chance of getting out alive.

Grayris dropped one hand to her teleporter. It wasn't anywhere close to Vex-quality, but it suited her purposes just fine. The alternative was to wait for the rest of the horde to catch up.

The ninth Line Rifle round slammed into the other side of her boulder. Grayris leapt away and raced away as fast as she was able to. She could feel the shadow glaring at her with its hateful eye. It promised nothing less than total destruction.

She counted. _One... Two... Three... Four!_

She activated her teleporter. The device grasped her every atom and forcibly shuttered her to the left. Not a split second later, the Hobgoblin's beam pierced the rock upon which she'd been standing.

_One... Two... Three... Four!_

She teleported again, just in time. Her teleporter bleeped. It was spent. Her heart beat uncontrollably fast.

_One... Two... Three... Four!_

She jumped to the right. The beam scarcely missed her helmet by inches.

_One... Two... Three... Four!_

She rushed across the ground on all six limbs.

She didn't hear a shot. Grayris's mind whirled. She swore and threw a snarl over her shoulder. _Smart psesiskar!_

The Void beam shattered her overshield. She stumbled and almost collapsed as the wild Arc energy ran its course through her, making her limbs twitch involuntarily.

There was no strategy after that. She bolted away in a wild winding run. She glimpsed a canyon ahead, vaguely familiar, but it was still so far. She had-

Pain, sudden and unrelenting, surged up from her side. This time Grayris did fall - and into a heap. She pressed her fangs together and hissed out a shriek. In the small part of her mind that wasn't dominated by pain, she knew what had happened. The Hobgoblin had finally found its mark.

She couldn't feel one of her arms. It reminded her of the distant memory of docking pain, but a hundred times worse if only for the searing burn of Void. Her vision swam.

She had to get up. She had to keep running. Grayris pulled her mandibles against her jaw and forced herself to move. The pain only intensified, yet she persevered.

_Two... Three... Fou-_

She ducked. A beam twanged right overhead. She barely withheld a gasp. It had come far too close for comfort.

Her sight snagged on something. She squinted past the red veil thrown over her vision. Something bright... and blue.

Wire rifle.

Grayris threw herself onto the ground. The familiar shriek of an Arc round seared past. A nightmarish scream split the air, then nothing.

No. Not nothing. Shouts - in Eliksni! And the hum of Skiffs readying for flight! She almost shouted for joy; the Great Machine was smiling upon her.

More screams came from far behind. The other shadows were on their way. Her blood coolled and her ether frosted.

" _Iirsoveks_!" She bitterly swore, the giddiness of relief little more than a discarded memory. Grayris picked herself up - not without some difficulty - and trudged forward. She waited for the Arc bite that would end her life. None came.

The shockshooter stood a _rikha_ away. Though she couldn't discern the colour of their cloaks, their raised arms were impossible to miss. A gesture of welcoming. They must have assumed her to be one of their own. Foolish. And to her advantage.

They, and presumably the Skiffs they hailed from, were far, but not impossibly so.

Grayris started marching. She cringed as pain lanced up her side. Only with the Hobgoblin dead did she dare to look down. She almost wished she hadn't. Her flank was painted with ash and blood. Her lower right arm hung uselessly at her side, tendons severed. It was bad. But not fatal. She could survive it.

All she needed was ether. And a Skiff to escape from the shadows. She glanced back to the ridge. If it was a Wolf, she had more kills to commit. If Winter...

_Winter is gone._

Grayris limped onwards. She hardened her heart. Her blood roared with fading battle fury and her side twinged with pain. Every movement jostled the wound, dragging the sting to new heights.

Winter was gone, but she reckoned it was better to brave whatever danger lay ahead than wait for the shadows to take her. She marched, wincing with every step and cursing the Hive, the Wolves, and the humans all at once.

  
  



	2. Reconnect

The shockshooter scrambled down the rise to meet her, eyes still locked to the scope. He bore Winter colours, fortunately, and he was little more than half her height. Something which didn't go unnoticed.

"You're... noble-born," he clicked nervously.

Grayris growled irritably. "Name yourself!"

Instinct overcame all else. The shockshooter Vandal prostrated himself low and performed an awkward rendition of an over hasty _irellis_ bow with his knives. "Erhiir, my Baron." He looked up.

Grayris grunted. "You know me?"

"You wear Draksis's colours."

Her cloak. Ripped as it was, the sigil and sky-blue colouration were impossible to miss. She didn't have the heart to discard it. "I am Grayris," she quietly announced. As an afterthought, she added: "Time-Bane."

 _Let my trophies be testament to that_ , she thought. Her claws brushed over the mechanical eyes hanging from her belt.

Erhiir bowed even lower. His facemask almost touched the ground. "My Baron, it is-"

She roughly grabbed him and held him up before her eyes. "Are there Wolves?" She demanded with a hiss heavy with pain.

He blinked, rapidly, and gurgled, " _Eia_ . _Eia_! But we-"

She dropped him without ceremony and checked over her shrapnel launcher. "Bring me to the Skiffs," Grayris gruffly ordered, "and say nothing. If blood is to be spilled... stay out of my way."

The roar of Skiffs preparing for flight was comfortingly familiar. The gentle thrum of sleeping thrusters rippled through the air and broke upon her eardrums like a soft ocean wave.

Her fury was the coastal rocks against which the sea crashed and rage. She stalked after the scrambling form of Erhiir and scanned the horizon for other sharpshooters. None showed themselves.

The Vandal led her to a clearing where three purring Skiffs readied for takeoff. Their crews were still loading them up with ether-tanks and crates of ammunition.

They were leaving Venus.

She was too large to go unnoticed. Steadily, slowly, eyes from all corners of the clearing swept over to her guns too. Most belonged to those bearing the gentle blue of Winter. Only a tall, ether-rich Captain standing in the centre of it all boasted the crueler, colder shades of the _Mraskilaasan_.

"Who..." He began. His gaze found her guide and hardened. "Erhiir! Fool! Dreg-worth!"

Erhiir cringed. "My Captain, deepest apologies, I-"

Grayris marched past him, summoning all her remaining strength. Her injured arm dangled by her side, but the other three swept out wide. It was a challenge. "You!" She snarled. "Wolf-whelp! Skolas-rat!"

"All Wolves here," the Captain seethed. He was well-fed and strong of limb, but she towered over him all the same. Even in her wounded state, Grayris reckoned she had the advantage. Especially considering he only boasted a single sword. He continued, saying: "No Winter. Nothing for you."

Someone else growled. And it wasn't aimed at her.

But the Captain was undeterred. He closed his inner pair of eyes. "Flee, bleeding Winterling! Before I cut you down where you stand!"

She laughed, loudly and without humour. Grayris deactivated her shrapnel launcher and laid it on the ground, then drew her blades. She tossed one onto the ground between them. Now both of them had only one. With her injured secondary arm she waved to the Skiffs and watching Eliksni. "These are mine. I claim them."

"You have no claim, lost thing!" The Captain raged. "My crew is-"

"They are Winter. I am Grayris, Baroness of Winter and Bane of the Time-Stalkers. I claim them by calling on the old oaths. These crews are now mine!"

A brief glance told her all she needed to know: some wore hungry, eager, expressions, while others masked their intentions behind colder ones. None spoke out on the Wolf's behalf.

She looked back at him. He was almost foaming at the mouth. Either crazed or desperate - and she reckoned it was the latter. _How would a Wolf command a crew only consisting of Winter?_ She idly wondered. Then it struck her, and she laughed again.

"This is his first command posting!" She chuckled. The Captain took an angry step forward, yet he did not deny it. Grayris grinned. "You are young. You do not see how the currents of power shift and turn. I have been sailing them since the Whirlwind struck. Lay down your blade - there is no shame in it."

" _Nama_!" He bellowed. "I will not-"

A crackling spike ripped through his back and out his front. The Captain stared at the blade protruding from his sternum in sheer disbelief. Ether and blood flushed out of the wound. His eyes dimmed.

The Marauder behind him uncloaked and unceremoniously pushed him off the shock sword. The Wolf fell hard and didn't get up.

Grayris frowned. "He was mine," she growled.

The Marauder bowed his head. "Apologies, my Baron."

"Name yourself!"

"Azilis, the Unseen." He nudged the corpse and shrugged. "This one was Metraks. He was too greedy for ether."

Grayris groaned. "Was he the only Wolf?"

Azilis nodded. "Eia. _Mraskilaasan_ are spread thin. Time-Stalkers and Lightmongers both tear at what remains."

"What remains? Who leads them?"

"I... do not know, my Baron. Perhaps none."

Grayris stalled. "None? No Kell, no Archon, no Prime-God?" She would have asked more, but her screaming side urged her hurry. "There is not time. Load your Skiffs, Eliksni of Winter. We leave now."

"You will lead us?" Azilis asked, hopeful and cautious all at once.

She nodded gravely. "I shall. And there will be no discussion of returning to Wolves! Leave Skolas's kin to their slow demise. Leave them to this world gone mad. We are Winter! Winter endures!"

A hollow cheer rang out. It was no true speech, for she possessed none of the suave charm of an Archon, but she was satisfied with it. _Let it remind them of their allegiances_ , she thought as she watched the crew hesitantly resume working. None dared to look her in the eye.

"Erhiir!" She called out. The Vandal appeared by her side and bowed deeply.

"Yes, my Baron?" He asked meekly.

"Fetch a Splicer and Servitor," she ordered. "My wounds need dressing."

"At once!" He rushed away. Azilis chuckled and sauntered over. Grayris narrowed her eyes. "What, Trick-Blade?"

"Trick-Blade?" He tilted his head. After a moment, he nodded. "I like that. I will bear this new title with pride, my Baron."

She gritted her fangs together and pulled her mandibles taut against her jaw. "Give me your oath."

He stilled and tensed. "My Baron?"

"Give me your oath. One of allegiance to I and our House."

"I... Of course, my Baron." Azilis knelt and proffered up his blade - the very same one that had killed Metraks. "I offer you my blade and soul and ether."

She took it, held it up in the dying daylight, and tossed it back. "I accept. Now hurry - the puppets of the Maw will doubtless have caught our scent by now."

Azilis looked up. "What is our heading, my Baron?"

Grayris mulled it over. "Our Kell is dead," she said softly, slowly. "As is our Archon, and our Prime. Wolves claim what remains, but their grasp is weak. We leave this place to the shadows and seek out more bountiful fields to harvest."

Azilis chittered excitedly. "Truly? I shall relay this to our pilots." He made to go, then thought better of it. He turned around, bowed at the waist with his palms upturned, and only then did he race away.

She stayed where she was and regarded the cooling Wolf corpse with something akin to disappointment. Not for the missed fight, but the way in which the upstart had been finished. It left a bad taste in her mouth. _Have we fallen so low that we cannot even settle our grievances like honest warriors?_

Grayris looked about. The faces she saw were either excited or too guarded to read. She recognized none. _All young. Too young. With nothing more than stories to tie them to Riis of old._ She shook her head. _What am I to do?_

  
  



	3. Starflight

They were on the verge of starving.

Grayris' new crew were thirty-seven strong, and each of them was Winterborn. And between those thirty-seven, all they had was a single Servitor - and an Ether Runner at that. As her recently-claimed Skiffs rose from the ground and darted away from the encroaching horde, Grayris settled down and studied the holy machine. In the days of pre-Whirlwind Riis, the Ether-Runners were a courier's greatest friend. Fast - in motion and in harvesting - but ultimately far from ideal where larger groups were concerned. They simply didn't have the capacity to store near as much Ether as a High Servitor would.

And, unfortunately, the Ether-Runner had only the bare minimum to support three half-crews. Before she'd arrived, Metraks had earned the ire of those under his command by taking more than he was due. But Grayris, being larger than their previous Captain, had to take just as much to support herself. And more yet to accelerate her recovery. Doing so would almost certainly paint her as worse than Metraks, and given that she'd only so recently acquired the cautious loyalty of the crews, a mutiny was all but certain.

" _Iirsoveks_!" She swore.

The Splicer who'd delivered the grim tidings bowed his head so low his rebreather almost touched the floor. "My deepest regrets, Baron."

Grayris dismissed his words with a wave of her hand. "Deliver me two portions," she ordered. Enough to satisfy a Vandal, perhaps, but it would leave her famished. And hurting.

The Splicer looked up for a split second before averting his eyes. "Are you certain, Baron?"

"Just do it!" She snapped. Pain and hunger dragged out the anger in her.

He turned to the Servitor and gently, lovingly, ran his claws over the Servitor's hull. The holy automaton stared at her, unblinkingly, and loosened its shell. The Splicer quickly fitted a pipe and tank to the exposed ports. Ether, glorious Ether, steadily sloshed in until the semi-clear plastic container was one-fifth full. The pipe was detached, the tank handed over to her, and Grayris exulted in the sweet scent of life-giving ambrosia for a solid moment before allowing herself to inhale it all.

The cold, rich drink suffused in her a newfound strength. The pain of her lower arm receded to a dull throb, and the veil hanging over her thoughts was abruptly ripped away.

She wanted more. So, so, _so_ very badly. It wasn't enough. It took all her willpower to resist the urge to demand more. But it was a necessary sacrifice. _Her_ sacrifice. Made on the behalf of her new crews. Grayris hoped it wasn't for naught.

The Splicer dipped his head again. Not quite as deeply as the first time, though somehow all the more personal because of it. At least her sacrifice hadn't gone unnoticed.

Grayris bitterly flared her mandibles and ground her teeth together. She turned and bared her injured side. "Fix," she ordered uncompromisingly.

The Splicer ducked away and returned with a kit full of medicinal supplies. He produced a pack of stolen cytogel and removed a fistful of pale crystallic grains, and roughly pressed it against her burns.

Grayris almost bit off her tongue - she could taste the coppery blood slip past where her fangs poked holes in the muscle, sweetened with the cool aftertaste of Ether. Even the holiest of ambrosias couldn't mask the sudden sting.

The Splicer hummed and whispered encouragements as he worked. The Voidburns were treated with rare disinfectants and rarer salves. It was his thanks. She thought it over as he slowly, steadily, closed the primary wound with thread and needle.

"The nerves in your arm have been... severed," he reported. "But! It won't be forever. You will heal, in time."

She closed her outer eyes and shuttered the inner pair in silent gratitude. The rumble of the Skiff around her calmed her roaring heart.

Grayris stood without another word and climbed into the cockpit. The pilots, and Azilis, glanced at her and saluted. She looked past them and out of the forward viewport. Venus's sun-beaten wilds flashed by below them as they tiptoed the line between troposphere and stratosphere.

"Where to?" Azilis cheerfully asked.

Grayris mulled it over. She wanted to stay - by the Great Machine, did she want to stay! Venus was home, even if temporary, and she couldn't help clinging to the fond memories of stalking its jungles in search of boar, panthers, and Minotaurs.

But those jungles hid a different beast, now. One beyond her ability to hunt.

"We leave this behind," she began, gesturing to the planet below. "Our heading is beyond the scope of Draksis's dead ambitions."

"To other worlds?"

Grayis inhaled deeply. _Venus is gone. And Winter with it. But Winter endures._ She chittered, angry with herself for her indecisiveness and betrayal to those who'd fallen. _The Maw is here. Winter cannot endure this_. "Make for the rocks of the Belt."

Azilis tilted his head. "The Reef? From whence these ragged Wolfborn came?"

" _Eia_. The Reef." She hated how it hung in the air. "The Awoken demesne is a scattered place of hidden treasures."

"Wolves died there."

"Wolves sought war. We only seek a new beginning."

"Will the Awoken think that?"

She didn't even need to think it over. " _Nama_. But Judgement has given its word that my Skiffs will have safe conduct."

"It has?"

A part of her was infuriated by his boldness. He was a mere Marauder, and she a Baron. But reason kept her anger in check: they were new to her and her to them. She _was_ a Baron, but they weren't the crews she formed beneath her command. There were no bonds holding them together, only old oaths and similarly-coloured cloaks.

She would have to humour him. So far, his questions hadn't strolled into dangerous territory. It was his audacity to ask that was the issue - one she would have to overlook. For now.

"Winter is a wounded thing," she said bitterly. "So I call on promises and pacts made in elder days to ensure our survival. Judgement made an offer. I entertained it."

"What happened?"

"The shadows found my crew and I. Talks were cut short."

There was no need to explain what happened. Azilis lowered his gaze; he knew the rest.

Her claws tightened on the frame of the hatch. Rage bubbled up within her - aimed solely at the screaming, hobbling creatures they'd left behind. Her crew was loyal and dutiful and beautiful to behold. Losing them to the wicked Hive magic was a travesty she still hadn't truly processed.

Grayris exhaled with a hiss through gritted teeth. "Set course for the Vestian Web. Ensure the other Skiffs follow."

"They will, my Baron."

She didn't remain any longer. Grayris ducked her head and reemerged in the main body of the Skiff. A dozen others were already inside, either huddled with those they knew or counting out what belongings they'd managed to save from the fall of their old House. A couple turned to stare at her. When she sternly glared back, they averted their eyes.

They looked less like the noble warriors of a House than they did half-starved refugees.

Grayris lurched into the corner by the hatch, folded up on herself, and closed her eyes. She heard, and felt, the Skiff around her groan as it prepared to enter warp. The sound reassured her. Calmed her. Anchored her in reality.

She deactivated her helmet's HUD, closed her eyes, and leaned back so that her helm's horns braced against the hull. Her stomach rumbled empty and her arm still ached, but what Ether she'd inhaled kept the worst of it at bay. That was something to be glad for.

Even a single blessing was to be cherished. They were too few and far between to begrudge.

* * *

The Asteroid Belt was a mess of loose rock and shattered human ships wreathed in ethereal purple mists. It promised mystery and lavish bounty, and a bounty of treasures hidden in its dark recesses. Even through the viewport, Grayris could tell the Reef was seething. There was something dangerous there. A lethality hidden beneath the beauty. And it was angry.

Grayris climbed into the cockpit, pushed past Azilis, and punched a set of coordinates into the nav-terminal. "There," she announced. "That is our destination. Inform the others."

"It shall be done, my Baron," the lead pilot assented.

The Skiff sped up and cut into the purple skies of the Reef. They dipped past debris and wreckages, slowly but steadily making their way in. It was a haunting, dangerous mess filled with the ghosts of humanity's last desperate attempts to outrun their Collapse. Nothing moved. Nothing lived.

A fragment of asteroid drifted onto their path. Their Skiff swerved around it with a sharp jolt.

"Careful..." Grayris murmured. Her claws tightened on the hatch frame.

Their going was slow and edged with uncertainty. The drifting maze of the Reef steadily shifted before their eyes, throwing all certainties of safe passage out the airlock. They could sight a valley between asteroid and burnt-out hull, only for it to close up and break apart.

Grayris clicked quietly. Judgement hadn't informed her of this.

A ping came from above. One the black screen of the Skiff's radar, four pink blips dotted up behind the blue dot of the rearmost Skiff

"My Baron?" The pilot began nervously.

"I see them."

"We are being hailed."

She pushed herself fully in and leaned over the radio transmitter. "Put it through."

At first, there was nothing but fizzling static. She messed with the dials in an attempt to decipher the buzzing message. It took a few moments for the eloquent, and foreign, words to filter through. " _-are trespassing in the realm of the Awoken. State your intentions or prepare to met with deadly force._ "

Grayris flared her mandibles. "Human speech," she noted, oddly disappointed. A part of her had hoped that Judgement would sent true Eliksni warriors to escort them inside. Not... this.

But the Awoken were still waiting. And Grayris didn't feel like throwing herself into another fight.

" _We are of House Winter_ ," she informed them. The human words were clunky, and just waiting to trip her up, but she powered on all the same. " _House Judgement offered... invitations to us, yes?_ "

She could feel Azilis's and the pilots' surprised stares. She strove to ignore them.

There was a pause on the other end. Then... " _Identify yourself._ "

Grayris straightened. " _I am Grayris, Time-Bane._ "

" _Baroness of House Winter?_ "

" _Yesss._ "

" _Understood._ " One of the pink blips darted around her Skiffs, and darted into sight. She waved the secondary pilot away from the firing mechanisms. " _Follow our trajectory. Any deviation will be considered an act of hostility._ " Another pause. " _Welcome to the Reef._ "

* * *

The Awoken pilots knew the ever-changing maze like the back of their hands. It did not surprise her; they had grown up within its chaotic embrace, so it stood to reason that they would learn how to navigate it. Their ships were quick and slim, and perfectly adept at creeping through the sea of debris with ease. While her Skiffs were almost as nimble, her pilots were not quite on par.

They would have to learn, too, if they were to stay.

It was a miracle the Awoken found her people when they did. With their help, all managed to slip through the shield of wreckages and rock without issue and into the notably calmer islands deeper inside. Purple reigned supreme. Grayris blinked. It looked just like an evening sky on old Riis...

She shook her head free of distracting thoughts and diverted her attention to that which awaited them. The queendom of the twin-souled Awoken.

It was worse than she envisioned. What beauty it clung to was marred by scars of hardship and misery. Smoking warp-trails traced across the violet skies. Craters were torn out of the larger asteroids, as if some battle had taken place. And, in the distance, a dull green mist winked right back.

"The Hive," Grayris spat. All four of her eyes narrowed.

Azilis made a huffing sound. "The demons have struck here too. Do they think to assail all Sol's strongholds? They will stretch themselves thin."

"Not if they come as an army." Her claws ghosted over the hilt of a sword, searching for comfort in its familiarity. "If I had the power, I would tear them all apart..."

Azilis looked over with a glint in his eye. "Machine-power? Awoken-power? Is that why we are here?"

Grayris growled " _Nama_. We are merely here to escape the tragedies Draksis allowed to befall us. You would do best to hold your tongue, Trick-Blade, lest the Awoken cut it out."

For once, he fell silent. Azilis lowered his head and upturned his palms, then retreated back to where the rest of his kith and kin waited.

The pilots turned back to their work and pretended to have heard nothing. Grayris cared not for what they thought. Let them build up their own images of her, while she focused on shepherding them out of the Hive's dreaded sight.

* * *

The Awoken led them to a space station rigged together from the corpses of a Ketch, an old human ship, and asteroid. Grayris already knew what it was: the Vestian Outpost and gateway to the Reef. She looked around its alien form, hoping to chance a look at the infamous Prison of Elders, but everything about it was far too unfamiliar to her.

The sleek Awoken vessels escorted them to a hanger on the station's starboard side. A space had been cleared, and Grayris could spot a regiment of Reefborn soldiers and combat Frames awaiting them inside.

Judgement's word evidently wasn't enough for them.

"Go on," she quietly urged the pilots. Their eyes shuttered fearfully, but they did as she asked. The Skiff inched forwards, and she felt the dull jolt of the station's artificial gravity taking hold. They landed, slowly and without issue. Docking clamps extended and locked onto the hanger's steel hull. The other Skiffs followed their lead. The last vessels - the two Awoken fighters operating as the rearguard - trailed in after them but remained in the air. It mirrored the stances of those outside. Their weapons were primed, yet not aimed. Ready for trouble but hoping for peace.

Grayris felt just the same.

She ducked back into the Skiff's hold and announced, "We have arrived. Keep your weapons holstered, or risk earning the Awoken's ire - and mine."

Weapons - knives, pistols, swords, and rifles - were hastily put away.

"Good." Grayris nodded. She locked eyes with Azilis. "Trick-Blade. Remain in sight. I want no trouble."

"You will have none," the Marauder vowed.

"March at my side. You will guard me. Splicer Kraneks! You will accompany me too."

"As you decree." The physician bowed his head, then tentatively raised it. "If I may, why...?"

Grayris silenced him with a look. "My arm," she explained through clenched fangs.

He gave no reply, but had the decency to sheepishly look at the floor. Grayris stalked past him to the tail of the Skiff. She keyed a command into the security panel by the hatches. When they opened, and the metal bars lowered, she was the first one through.

She landed into a crouch. The momentum jerked her arm, culminating in a spike of white-hot agony lancing through her. Grayris sucked in a breath and held it until she'd mastered the pain. Aware of all the eyes on her, she slowly ducked out from underneath the Skiff's tail to stand at her full height. She scanned her welcome party, but there wasn't an Eliksni between them. A sinking feeling pooled at the bottom of her stomach - had Judgement not the decency to offer her a common honour?

One of the Awoken stepped forward. Even without a helmet, Grayris couldn't tell it apart from the others. Humans were always the same - too few eyes and a distinct lack of mandibles. They were just like Cabal, only smaller.

She'd rather have dealt with Cabal. They were nowhere near as sly.

" _Baron Grayris?_ " The Awoken ventured. He glanced past Grayris as Azilis and Kraneks dropped behind her.

" _Yes?_ " Grayris shook out her upper arms. If for nothing else, she was glad for the space to stretch her limbs.

The Awoken man straightened his spine, and though he lacked another pair of eyes, his gaze was critical and severe. " _I am Paladin Hallam Fen, in service to her majesty..._ " He paused. Briefly. Something crossed his face, but Grayris wasn't near as accustomed to reading humans as she was her own kind. " _... And in service to Regent-Commander Petra Venj. What is your business here?_ "

Grayris clicked irritably. " _You know this. I seek Judgement. I seek the scribe._ "

Hallam Fen - what a strange name - reluctantly nodded. " _Scribe Variks has confirmed your story. You shall be provided with a guide and escort. However, by order of the queenslaw, I must command that you leave your accomplices and weapons behind in our care._ "

Grayris stilled. Rage blossomed in her heart. It almost blinded her. The sheer _audacity_ of the creature! To leave her crew behind was regrettable yet understandable, but her weapons?! He'd performed no acts of armistice. No irellis bow. No promises of safe conduct. Had she met him in the Simiks-Fel, she would have cut him down where he stood for making such demands.

But she wasn't in the Simiks-Fel and his demands were propped up by soldiers just waiting for the order to open fire. The irony wasn't lost on her. Grayris snarled. " _I will keep a blade_ ," she hissed, " _for my own protection._ "

" _This is non-negotiable._ " Hallam Fen's face darkened.

" _I am not negotiating. I am merely informing you of what is to happen._ "

" _I cannot-_ " Another Awoken approached and whispered something into his ear. Hallam closed his eyes and nodded gravely. " _So be it. But nothing more._ "

" _And my guards?_ " She gestured to Azilis and Kranek.

His jaw tightened. " _They may accompany you. Equally unarmed._ " He exhaled, slowly. " _Your ships will be provided with fuel and your people with whatever essential supplies they need._ "

She tilted her head to convey her gratitude. No doubt it was lost on him.

Hallam Fen stepped back. " _I hope you enjoy your stay in the Reef, Baron._ " And he marched away with half of the gathered soldiers.

Somehow, she didn't think he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Massive thanks to Intrepid Dream for helping out with the edits


	4. Nest

There were five Reefborn to her three Winterborn - and that was including her. The Awoken walked with a cautious intent, like predatory birds wading into shallow waters. Sleek rifles clutched in expert hands, and blades rested over backs. The only true armour they wore were dark plasteel helmets and kevfoam pauldrons. The rest was merely reinforced biosuits, not dissimilar to her own. But Grayris wore battle armour over her suit to compensate for the lack of bodily protection.

Perhaps the humans were incapable of wearing a full suit of armour - like Psions were. But, alternatively, it could have been a conscious decision to sacrifice defense in exchange for speed. And Awoken were fast. Certainly faster than she'd thought they'd be.

Two of the twin-soul humans took up the rear, and the other three arrayed themselves in front as guards and guides. They led Grayris in her companions through an ever growing labyrinth of dark corridors and sparsely-manned checkpoints.

Kraneks looked at everything with wide eyes. It was clear to see that he yearned for each piece of bared machinery they passed. All the workings of the station around them. Most of it was kitbashed crosses of human and Eliksni technology, and her new Splicer none-too-subtly hungered after it all.

Azilis was outwardly calmer. He did just as she instructed and drew no attention to himself. He behaved well. And yet, however he felt about it was hidden from her. His helmet masked his face and his movements were too stiff and deliberate to read.

She didn't know if she could trust him to keep the peace, but she reasoned it was better to have him within sight than causing untold amounts of trickery by the Skiffs.

If he proved too quarrelsome to keep, Grayris would cut him down herself. No one, not even one of her own, had the right to endanger her Winterlings.

They reached a sealed airlock. Doors opened. Air recycled. Decontaminants flushed. The other side of the chamber opened up to a door room rife with flashing screens. Two Frames stepped forth, armed with human rifles. Their optics were fixed on her.

" _Hold._ " The lead Awoken held up a hand. The Frames froze. " _Passcode: 1E Machiavelli._ "

The twin Frames retreated with synchronized movements. Perfect little soldiers, those. Not quite as lethal as a roused Hobgoblin, but Hobgoblins couldn't be leashed with lines of code.

The figure tapping away at terminals and screens on the far side of the room didn't even turn around. Their robes, his robes, were the same soft green she remembered from centuries past. There was still a rough collar of brown-grey fur over his thin, hunched shoulders. His metal arms worked with as much vigour as the lower, very real flesh-and-ether ones.

His ceremonial staff leaned against the counter upon which the tower of screens stood. Out of hand.

" _Variks is very busy, yeees? Come back another time._ "

" _Scribe Variks-_ " the Awoken guide began, but Grayris was having none of it.

"Judgement," she growled in High Speech. The true language of nobles. The language of inter-House diplomacy. "By the Great Machine, what is _this_?" She held out her upper arms to the room around them. Variks twirled around, all four eyes wide with surprise. His ceremonial helmet was still intact. The Awoken hadn't taken it from him. "Is _this_ your welcoming?!"

He clicked irritably. Irrationally. Methodically. "Much to be done, Grayris-Baron. Much to be saved."

She narrowed her inner eyes angrily, though he couldn't see it. She forced herself to keep from raising her voice. "From the Hive? I saw their cursed glow as we flew in. Have they reached here too?"

He closed all eyes - desperate and tired all at once. His clicking mandibles slowed to a steady tick-tick-tick. "Their spindle-ships spear through everything. They hammer down on Pallas. On Vesta. They prey the lanes around Cybele. Herculina reports Tombships. Cabal follow them. Fight them. Hurt them. Hive hurt them back."

Grayris bit back a growl. Cabal were bad news. Hive were worse. Always worse. She stepped forward and finally gave the screens the attention they were due. It was as bad as Variks was making it out to be. Worse. Thrall charged. Wizards screamed. Gunfire cut them down, but there was always another beast right behind.

"Cities evacuated. Civilians run. Flee. Scatter." Variks went right back to work. "The Maw is here."

Her blood turned to ice. "Foe of Chelchis?"

" _Eia_."

It was beyond worse. It was a living nightmare. Variks motioned to one screen in particular. The display was wracked by static, but it was there. Bold and malignant. The God-Carapace. It hung in space, surrounded by the husks of lesser vessels. A broken Ketch drifted into view - and it was little more than a toy when compared to sheer size of the Hive's behemoth.

The Hive were on the march. No wonder their shadowed puppets found her all the way on Venus - they were invading en masse. She could still see them under her eyelids. Friends and foes garbed in night skies, with flickering stars for eyes. Dark magic. Hive magic. A magic to run from.

Grayris imagined she should have run the opposite way. Out of the system entirely. Better to die drifting in the expanse of space than to be dragged down by the Maw's rending teeth.

"Where is your twin-souled Kell?" She demanded heatedly. Terror made her brash. Made her angry.

Variks closed his inner eyes and kept them shut for many more moments than was due. She knew that look. Her gaze drifted back to the screens. The one screen in particular. If she squinted, she could make out the royal purple adorning the burnt-out Ketch.

"Marakel left a plan," Variks reasoned. Surely even he knew how preposterous it sounded. "Lightbearers will crash against the Hive and-"

"Die," Grayris snapped bitterly. "They will die. Or be lost." She should have run. They all should have. What had Draksis been thinking? What had all the Kells been thinking? They should have run. They all heard the Hope-Eater's dying scream. Heard it blasted across all channels for a fraction of a second, shattering through all safeguards and firewalls.

They should have known it would be answered. _She_ should have known it would be answered.

"Then why am I here?" Grayris asked. She rose up to her full height. "Your Kell is dead. Your new House is broken. Your adopted people are dying. Winter, Judgement, Awoken - we are all the same now. All shattered. Those who stand shattered will not stand for long."

Variks narrowed his outer eyes. "Beware," he warned softly. But she couldn't stop.

"Drifis, Virixas, Solkis, Draskis, and Skolas. The Kells are dead. Do any remain?" She knew the answer the moment she asked. "Craask."

"Craask hides."

"Craask always hides. That is how he survives. Out of sight. But he may see a path out of this from wherever he has burrowed away."

"You are here now," Variks chittered. "Here, in the Reef. Not Earth. Not among Kings."

Her terror turned to full anger. " _Eia_ , here, in the midst of a dying people."

"We are all dying. You said so yourself."

"I intend to die slower," she rebuked sharply. One of the Awoken flinched and fingered their weapon, but she was beyond caring. What was the threat of a rifle of a Hive god loomed overhead? "Out of the Maw's clutches."

"You run?"

"From the Maw? _Eia_. I run."

"Stay."

" _Nama_. I cannot. Winter must endure."

"With Kings?" He afforded her a stern look. He thought her ridiculous, she knew, but was it truly ridiculous to want a way out? To live? "All Kings hide. They will not crawl from their tunnels. Not even for the endurances of Winter. Try to find them if you wish - they will not make it easy."

Grayris hated how true his words rang. The Kings had always been secretive - therein lay their power. With the arrival of the Maw... locating even one of their lowliest scouts would prove all but impossible

"You are here," Variks repeated. He waved almost lazily to the other screens - to those flickering over the many skies of the Reef. Flickering green wounds pierced through the veils and snuck past the outward debris of the Ring. "Much to be done. If you leave, I cannot help you find your way."

"We have no way." Her shoulders slumped. Her indignity abandoned her - just like the white orb hanging on the highest screen of all. "Our ways are gone. Our ways have fallen."

Variks offered her the barest of piteous glances. Grayris wanted none of it. Not his sympathy, not his advice, and certainly not his new failing House.

"I cannot wait for death to take me," she said slowly and deliberately. With purpose. A plan was forming in her head, but it was barebones and ridden with faults. "I must go. Cannot stay. Winter must endure."

The scribe turned on her. Sharply. Too sharply. "Where will you go?"

"What does it matter to you?" Grayris had already turned away. She had it all laid out in her mind - return to her Skiffs, consult her subordinates, make a plan from there. Earth was promising, even if the Kings were in hiding. Devils were bloodthirsty and wild, unreliable allies, but she could claim distant kinship to their House. Her cousins were undoubtedly dead, though the mention of names might prove enough to earn the Devils' fleeting mercy.

Or maybe Mars. Steal from the Cabal all they need. Ether and fuel. That's all she wanted. Enough to survive long enough for the Maw to pass them by.

"Awoken raise me as commander of Crows."

Grayris froze and turned around. "You?!"

Variks plucked his staff and leaned on it. A charade, she knew - he could stand well enough on his own. "It is I who watches over these rocks and hulls. Cannot let you mar what remains."

"I shall not." She raised her head. "I intend to leave."

"Where?"

"The inner worlds."

"They are as much under siege as we are here." Variks sighed. "Remain. I will help where I can. Too many of our people are already lost to the Light-Snuffer's hunger. We cannot lose more."

"What help can you offer?" Grayris challenged. It came out harsher than she intended. "What I need is Ether. A stronger Servitor. More ships."

Variks straightened self-consciously. "I do not have that."

"No Servitor?" She doubted that very much.

"None to give."

There it was. The greed. The need to hoard. Even the highest among them couldn't help but fall prey to it. "Then we have no more-"

His eyes narrowed again. Dangerously so. "Information."

"Unless you can give me Craask, your words mean nothing to me."

"Stay. Wait. Help. And I will search for him. Or... you may choose to remain as part of the Reef. As a friend to Judgement."

"I would sooner leap unprotected into the vacuum outside than remain," she bit out. It was a mistake and she knew it. This was a barter, and she was negotiating poorly. With a frustrated sigh, Grayris hissed out, "Help how?"

His eyes glittered. He knew he had her. They both knew it. It made her stomach twist. "This should please you, Baron." His voice was softer. Smoother. An attempt to placate her. It only fanned the flames of her growing temper. "Wolfship Endriks-Fel-"

"Wolfship?!" Grayris cried out. " _Nama_ , Wintership! I know that vessel!"

He didn't look to care. "Winter once, Wolf now. Its Baron deserted Awoken, but after Skolas died he came crawling back with many apologies. Did not want their bounties on him. Now he has gone silent."

"Fled?"

" _Nama_. I... do not think so. His Ketch remains by Herculina. Crows report it so. Need to know what happened. Need to protect Awoken if it is another attack."

"From Hive?"

" _Eia_."

"... I do not like this. You said I would."

"Ketch is yours. Servitors aboard are yours. I- _Awoken_ merely desire information."

She mulled it over. "Why not send your Awoken?"

Variks shrugged. "Stretched thin. Under attack. All available ships engaged. All warriors in action or waiting for action."

Grayris didn't like that. Not a shred. And she made her reluctance known. "If this is a trap, Variks 'Loyal', I will personally ensure that you suffer too."

He glared at her. "I lay no traps, Time-Bane. Find the Ketch, find the crew, report what happened."

"I have not given any oaths of fealty, and already you wield me and mine like sworn vassals. So be it!" She snarled. "I will do this. But you will provide me with the means to find Craask. Yes?"

"If it is within my ability..." Variks inclined his head. The motion was more human than Eliksni. It brought a disgusted grimace to her features. He looked past her and gestured forth to someone. Grayris spotted another Awoken appearing as if from the shadows. She... hadn't noticed it before.

It wore a dark biosuit and a couple plates of plasteel painted black. Cyan skin and yellow - almost green - eyes peeked out from below a covering of deep navy hair.

" _Crow_ ," Variks tittered in the human language, all business. " _Accompany Grayris-Baron. She shall investigate the Endriks-Fel._ "

The Crow said not a word. She looked up at Grayris, then back to Variks and returned him a nod.

Grayris growled in their own tongue, "I will not carry a human aboard my ships."

But Variks was uncompromising. The look he gave her was almost daring her to contradict him. "These are my terms. Awoken need to know. Anzani will give us the unaltered truth."

"You consider me a liar?!"

"I consider you desperate. Perhaps desperate enough to lie if you think it would benefit you."

Grayris wanted to strangle him then and there. He was worse than Azilis. Far worse. With a muffled roar, she twisted around and marched right out. Her Winterlings - and Crow - followed close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Massive thanks to Intrepid Dream for editz


End file.
